Holding On, Letting Go
by LEJ418
Summary: Prequel to Picking Up the Pieces. "There's a layer of something between them. A distance he can't quite breach. Everything should be back to how it was. She's forgiven him. She loves him. But there's something wrong. She's Wendy Darling, carrying a kiss in the corner of her mouth that he can't seem to get." Rory and Logan unravel. Lit undertones.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I always felt like I started Picking Up the Pieces a little too abruptly so I decided to write a prequel of sorts that frames the story. This story begins roughly a week after the events of 6x18: The Real Paul Anka and is completely AU.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Rory**

"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked…I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."  
― Sylvia Plath, _The Bell Jar_

 _Lavender and pink sunrises greet her over and over as she turns down strange, winding roads. Left. Right. It doesn't matter. There's a feeling of peace here. She doesn't know where she's going or where she's been but she's on her own._

 _Rory._

 _His voice is gravelly but soft as he trails searing kisses down her torso. She arches towards him, her hands tangling into his dark hair. He traces words into her skin, a novel taking shape in the curve of her neck—_

 _Gilmore!_

 _She ducks and something goes flying past her head and crashes into the building behind her. It bursts suddenly into a fiery storm, raining bits of debris down on them._

" _Move down the street," she shouts to her news team as they run for cover, ducking their heads._

 _She tugs on her Kevlar, assessing the safest location—_

 _Mommy!_

 _A tiny blonde child reaches for her, her identical blue eyes brimming._

 _Rory reaches out to pick her up but someone snatches her up before she can._

" _You'll muss Mommy's dress," Logan says. He picks up the little girl gingerly and holds her up to Rory. "We have to go now. Can you give Mommy a kiss goodnight?"_

 _The child nods tearfully and plants a kiss on her mother's cheek. "Why do you have to go?" The little girl asks sullenly._

" _Daddy's getting an award tonight," Rory explains sweetly, smoothing some of her daughter's hair back._

" _And he's going to be late if we don't hurry," he reminds Rory pointedly._

 _She leans over to give her daughter a kiss goodnight—_

Rory's eyes snap open. Confused, she picks her head up off her philosophy textbook.

"Hey Ace, welcome back to the land of the living." Logan treads out of the kitchen, a drink in his hand.

Twisting her neck from side to side to work out the kinks, she stares at him for a moment in sheer disbelief. "How long was I asleep?"

Logan shrugs. "Relax. You've only been out for an hour or so."

Rory frowns, looking down at the notes spread on the table in front of her. "You could've woken me. I have a ton of work to do," she grumbles. She can't really remember her dream anymore but something about it nags the edge of her consciousness, an odd sense of longing for something coupled with an inexplicable irritation at Logan.

"Sorry. You just looked like you needed it. You should get more sleep."

She looks up from the shuffle of notes she was trying to make sense of when she fell asleep. "And you shouldn't drink while on painkillers," she reminds him.

Logan takes another sip from his glass. "I'm fine. I barely took any today. It's just a couple of broken ribs. They don't even hurt that much."

Her face flashes with concern. "Why don't we stay here tonight? Watch a movie or something?"

"A movie?" He says dubiously. "It's Saturday night."

She tugs at the hem of her sweater. "It's just been such a long week. And you're still injured. I thought it would be nice."

"Colin and Finn and I were thinking we could go to New York actually," he proposes.

"Oh," she lets out, disappointed.

"Come with us. I'll get a room in the Plaza and we'll stay the rest of the weekend. Eat champagne and strawberries for breakfast again, do you remember that?"

"Yes, and it was great." She gestures towards her laptop. "But I wasn't in school then. I didn't have paper stuff and homework and I've promised Paris I'll—"

"We'll just go for the night then," he cuts in. "It beats sitting here in the apartment and staring at the TV when we could be clubbing in New York."

She bites her lip. "I don't feel like clubbing."

"Fine." He spits evenly. "Don't come. Stay here and watch a movie."

"Logan—" She attempts to plead.

"Look, you can stay here if you want but I only have a month before my life as I know it is over and I am not going to spend it sitting in my apartment."

"Your life is _not_ over," she sighs with exhaustion.

"It is from where I'm standing," he protests, his voice rising with frustration as he tosses a shirt haphazardly into his suitcase.

"How convenient for you," she mumbles under her breath.

He reels around. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's an excuse, Logan," she tells him firmly. "It's an excuse you give yourself to go out and get drunk every night and jump off cliffs and…god knows what else."

"So go rat me out to Honor again," he snarls, gesturing wildly. "You can complain about how irresponsible I am and then compare notes on how I drink too much."

She breathes deeply, trying not to get angry. "I never ratted you out to Honor," she answers calmly.

He throws back another sip of whiskey and slams his glass on the table. "Like hell you didn't."

Her face flushes remembering the short but frustrating dinner he stormed out of on Thursday because he couldn't handle Honor lecturing him about his drinking. She'd driven them home in the Porsche biting back retorts the entire way about how Honor's assessment was spot on. "I didn't _have_ to tell Honor anything because it's blatantly obvious. You broke three ribs jumping off a cliff. You can't even go one night without getting completely plastered."

"What the fuck is your problem?" He yells. "Where is this coming from?"

"Are you kidding me?" She spits with disbelief. "You're—"

"You're twenty-one, not ninety," he cuts in scathingly. "I don't know what your deal is lately, but you need to lighten the fuck up."

She flinches, stepping away from him. "Don't talk to me like that," she warns him quietly, but firmly.

Logan zips his suitcase, shaking his head with disgust. "Oh, so I'm not allowed to drink _or_ swear now? What's next? Dancing? Sex?"

She clenches the end of her hair with frustration. "Would you just stop yelling at me?"

He shoulders his bag, striding towards the door. "My pleasure," he calls as he slams it shut behind him.

Rory sinks onto the bed, biting back tears. They've been fighting constantly since he returned from Costa Rica a week ago with three fractured ribs. It's a new, yet ugly turn in a relationship that's been fraught with varying hurtles of difficulty for months now.

"Relationships take work," she remembers Emily lecturing her mother once. "You can't just give up because it's not sunshine and roses every second."

She sighs, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her sweater. She doesn't know what to do. None of her other relationships ever managed to slog through a rough patch for this long. Dean flat out broke up with her, twice, and Jess just took off when things started to unravel.

It's temporary she repeats to herself. It's become her mantra in the last week. Logan's going to graduate soon. He'll take a job with his father and he'll stop drinking so much. He'll be the charming, exhilarating man she fell in love with. She reminds herself of this every morning when she kisses him goodbye on the way to class, smelling last night's scotch on his breath. I chose him. I love him.

And yet…she keeps finding herself staring into space, snapping back to class or the paper or dinner with Logan in a sudden lurch.

She sees a dark head bent towards hers, eager to hear her thoughts, feels a searing kiss against her lips that makes her knees grow weak. Gasps at the fleeting expression of confusion and hurt Jess allowed himself before he steeled himself against her once again.

She's tried all week to push it from her mind. She's thrown herself into her schoolwork, into the paper, initiated sex with Logan with a single-minded intensity.

None of it works. Something is fundamentally wrong but she can't bring herself to do anything about it. Life is full of choices and she made hers. She's an adult now and she can't go about her life constantly changing her mind on a whim. She made her decision and now she has to stick to it.

She notices her overnight bag sitting on the floor next to the closet, Logan must've pulled it out for her earlier, assuming she would come with him. She picks it up, running her hand along the embroidered strap. She went home to Star's Hollow last weekend, trying to sublimate the gnawing guilt she felt over after seeing Jess, and the weekend before that as well, avoiding Logan.

She opens the bag thoughtfully. If she goes home for the third weekend in a row Lorelai and everyone else in town will suspect something's wrong. And yet…she finds she doesn't care.

She craves the comfort of home where her mother will fill the silence with her constant babble and Luke will sympathetically, wordlessly make her pancakes. She'll sit in on Lane's band practice and listen to Taylor lecture someone about littering. She'll help Kirk pare down his resume, which she did promise to do some weeks ago and let Sookie smother her with food.

Decided, she throws some clothes in her bag, scrawls a note to Logan, and takes off into the April night, blaring the Foo-Fighters all the way.

* * *

"Mom?" She calls, cracking open the front door.

"Rory?" Her mother pads into the foyer, surprised. "What are you doing home?"

"I have tons of homework," she answers simply, walking through the living room. "I thought I'd come home and do it here, less distractions."

"Well don't get me wrong, I'm happy to see you but—"

She comes to a halt in the kitchen where Luke and April are sitting at the table. April is explaining something to Luke, a pizza crust in her hand.

"—April's staying here for the weekend," Lorelai finishes.

"Hi Luke, April," Rory greets them.

"Hi Rory," April chirps. "Do you have any experience with cell splicing, I'm trying to explain it to Luke."

"Sorry, only in theory."

"That's what I figured," April says, consulting her textbook again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were coming home," Lorelai tries to explain.

"It's fine," Rory assures her mother. "It was spur of the moment thing. I can go back to—"

"You can stay at the diner," Luke suggests. "If you want somewhere quiet to study."

"I wouldn't want to put you out."

Luke waves her off. "I'll be here all weekend anyways. It'll be nice and quiet for you."

"And you can't beat the proximity to pie," Lorelai contributes, eyeing her daughter worriedly. There's something not right about this, something that makes her want to tuck her daughter into bed with a thousand blankets and a box of snack cakes and never let that sniveling little jackass near her ever again.

"No, I guess I can't resist pie," Rory agrees with a weak smile. "I'll stay."

"Great!" Lorelai proclaims. "Sit. Have some pizza. Help April make us feel stupid."

* * *

Luke lets her into the apartment later that evening, pulling a set of clean sheets from the closet.

"So um…you need anything else?"

Rory crosses her arms, looking around the room. She hasn't been up here since before she graduated high school. "I'm fine, thank you, Luke."

"Well, goodnight then."

He touches her elbow as he moves past her, a fatherly gesture that makes her smile, and opens the door. He turns, opening his mouth as if he wants to say something but he closes it again quickly, giving her a nod instead before he shuts the door behind him.

Rory sinks against the closed door, staring at the apartment. Maybe she should've gone back to New Haven after all. Standing here, in this room of stolen kisses and broken promises, she feels the farthest thing from comforted. Instead, she's haunted by her high school self.

She flutters past in her Chilton uniform, her hair loose and curly; laughing at Jess's complaints about Kirk; arguing with him about Faulkner; kissing him in nearly every corner of this apartment. She is happy and loose and whole. Her life is simple and measured; her boyfriend finally admitted to liking Bratmobile, she's going to Yale in the fall, and someday she's going to be a foreign correspondent.

The simplicity of her teens seems so far away from her now, she thinks, looking around the apartment. It feels good to be back at Yale again and the paper is going well but yet her goals seem farther out of reach now then they did at eighteen. Proving assholes like Mitchum Huntzberger wrong is going to be a hard road, one that already makes her feel weary even though she's hardly begun.

She runs her finger along Jess's bookshelf, noting the missing volumes he must've taken with him and the handful of ones he left. How did he decide what to take and what to leave, she wonders, pulling out his copy of _Please Kill Me_.

She flicks through the pages fondly. She really did love him once, she's more sure of that now then she ever was, but some part of her always knew she couldn't keep him. He was too restless, too damaged; he was seeking something from the world that she couldn't give him. And now that he's found it…it's too late for them.

Across the street Kirk shouts something, breaking the spell of her thoughts, and she realizes just how quiet the apartment is, just her and the sound of her breath. She eyes Jess's old CD player gathering dusk on top of the bookshelf. This doesn't surprise her, Luke isn't a huge fan of music so if Jess left anything in it, it's probably still there. Curiously, she presses power, and then play. It whirls for a second, then picks up on the track it left off on.

 _99 dreams I have had  
In every one a red balloon  
It's all over and I'm standin' pretty  
In the dust that was a city  
If I could find a souvenir  
Just to prove the world was here...  
And here it is, a red balloon  
I think of you and let it go._

* * *

 **A/N: So this was chapter one of several that explore Rory, Logan, Gwen and even a little of Jess in the weeks before Picking Up the Pieces began.** **I hope there was no confusion here, the biggest changes from canon are that Logan wasn't as badly injured, Lane and Zac did not get married and Luke and Lorelai worked out their April related issues.**

 **I hope you all enjoyed it, please do share your thoughts. Thanks for reading!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own** _ **Gilmore Girls**_ **,** _ **The Bell Jar**_ **or any songs subsequently mentioned or quoted in this story. In case you wanted to know, '99 Red Balloons' was written by** **Kevin McAlea, translated from the German song '9** **9 Luftballons' by the band Nena, I obviously take no credit and make no money from either song.** **This title was inspired by the Ross Copperman song 'Holding On And Letting Go' which I also do not own and first heard on The Vampire Diaries.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Logan

"The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it."  
― Sylvia Plath, _The Bell Jar_

Logan would've picked a club if he had a choice. He craves the heavy techno beats and vibrant lights, a strange girl grinding up against him, the harsh feel of liquor in his throat. He wants to forget Rory's hurt face, that stupid little black novel that's made a sudden re-appearance on her nightstand, the sting of her accusations as he walked out in the middle of another fight.

He looks around the bar with distaste. What he would not have picked as the venue for his oblivion is a rooftop bar in SoHo where several of his sister's friends are currently knocking back shots.

He winces, noticing Walker tug Alexandra onto the dance floor.

"Seriously, Colin?" He yells over the blaring Nelly Furtado song.

"It's _my_ turn," Colin insists.

Finn claps Colin on the shoulder. "Our boy has his eye on—"

A sudden swell of the music cuts the name off but it doesn't matter to Logan anyways. He wasn't exaggerating when he referred to them as Blondie, Dipsy and Bubbles. "We see these girls all the fucking time," he groans. "We're in New York. There's a whole city of girls. Why here?"

Finn shrugs. "Sorry, mate."

"I need a shot." Logan makes a beeline for the bar, skirting around the edge of the dance floor to bypass Megan. "Macallan, neat," he instructs the bartender. "And keep 'em coming."

"Logan Huntzberger knocking back scotch. Color me shocked," a voice says in his ear. He doesn't even need to turn around to know who it is.

"Gwen," he greets his sister's former maid-of-honor. He's known Gwen Valerie for as long as he can remember; she and Honor have been stalwart friends practically since the day they were born; slumber parties, dances, family vacations, she was _always_ around. Anyone else might have developed a sibling-like relationship as a result, but not them. He was nineteen the first time they slept together and they've maintained an on-again off-again holding pattern ever since.

She leans towards him with one elbow on the bar, watching him wryly. Her shimmery silver dress clings to her skin, rippling like water every time she moves.

"What brings you to New York?" She asks.

He holds up his drink. "I'm seeking oblivion."

"How very Lost Generation of you."

"Wrong city."

Her bright red lips curl into a smile. "I'm sure you'll manage. Where's Rory? She's not Lost Weekend-ing it with you?"

He grimaces at the memory of the fight he stormed out on.

" _Would you please just stop yelling at me?"_ Her voice echoes in his head.

He shrugs and takes a sip of his drink. "No. She's probably looking for someone else to sanctimoniously lecture about their hedonistic tendencies."

Gwen winces at his harsh tone. "Well then."

Desperate to change the subject, he latches on to the first thing that crosses his mind. "Speaking of hedonism, remember that family trip we took to Mexico? I was thinking about that the other day."

She frowns, considering this. "Which trip?"

"Cabo, I think."

"Was that the trip where your dad walked in on Honor with that bartender? Or was it the time we were fooling around on the whale watching tour and you puked up half a bottle of Gran Patrón all over my Prada wedges."

He shakes his head. "Wasn't it Cancun that Dad walked in on Honor? Which time did you have that red bikini?"

Gwen laughs. "Um…I'm pretty sure that was two years ago when we went to Greece."

"Really?" He signals the bartender for another scotch and a martini for Gwen.

"Yes," Gwen answers. "I remember the day I bought it because we were in Santorini and Honor and I got in a fight. I wanted to go to hiking and she wanted to go to shopping."

"And as usual, Honor won," he finishes for her, shifting so the bartender can set their drinks down. "You got your payback though."

"By payback do you mean sneaking off with you the next day to hook up on that private boat you booked?" She sips her drink luxuriously her eyes flickering at the memory. "She was so mad. Your mom made her go to the Museum of Prehistoric Thera with her."

"Hey, that was one of few boating experiences that hasn't ended in total disaster for me."

"You really should avoid boats," she tells him with a laugh. "Do you remember that time on your Dad's yacht when we all got caught playing strip poker?"

"Yeah." Logan grimaces at the memory. "Dad took my car away for busting into his cognac."

"I was about to win too."

"You were not."

"Wanna bet?"

She fixes him with a hard stare for a second and knocks back the remainder of her drink with one swallow. Setting it down with a thump and pushes herself off the bar, moving towards the dance floor. "Coming?" She calls over her shoulder.

He watches, mesmerized for a minute at the way she shimmers in the light as she moves and he follows.

The music throbs and he drinks until his vision begins to blur. The draw of Gwen's dress is his North Star and he echoes her movements. There is nothing but the smell of her perfume, the pulse of the music, the brush of sequins against his skin. She is everything and she is nothing. She is oblivion.

* * *

He wakes with a throbbing headache, his memories a jumbled sequence of events. A shout of laughter. His mouth on her neck. The fevered haste of scrambling for a condom. He rolls over in the unfamiliar bed, blinking at the dark room.

What has he done?

Next to him, Gwen slumbers easily, her blond hair illuminated by the city lights outside the window.

Logan glances at the clock, pinching the bridge of his nose. It's 3:17 am.

He should've stayed in New Haven.

Why the fuck did he not stay in New Haven?

The bile rises in his throat and he climbs out of bed gingerly, fumbling for his clothes in the darkness. He trips over the stool in front of Gwen's vanity and it topples over with a thud onto the hardwood floor.

"Logan?" She mumbles sleepily. "What are you doing?" She sits up, and pulls the chain on the lamp next to her bed, blinking in the light.

He can barely bring himself to look at her.

"I should go," Logan manages to choke out.

She peers at his anxious face with confusion. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he answers curtly. He finds his boxes and pants on the floor and hastily to pulls them on. "I have to be somewhere."

Gwen watches him without comment. These one-night stands are the parameters of their relationship more or less but Logan is the king of casual encounters. He's never awkward, always affectionate, and he usually stays for breakfast.

He buttons up his shirt, scanning the room for any evidence of clothing left behind.

"Your jacket's in the living room," she informs him.

"Thanks." He sighs, still unable to look her in the eye. "Well I should…"

"I'll see you around," she answers for him.

He gives her a brief nod and strides out of the room. A moment later, Gwen hears the front door slam shut behind him.

* * *

Back at the Plaza, Logan finds a baffled Colin and Finn waiting in their suite of rooms.

"What the hell, Logan?" Finn rants, he moves around the room in nothing but a silk robe and a pair of boxers. Usually Logan would mock him mercilessly but he's not in the mood and clearly neither is Finn.

Logan sighs.

"I mean, Jesus." Finn goes over to the drink cart, grabbing some ice with a pair of tongs. He throws some into a glass with a clink and flicks the rest at Logan, who dodges it. "You _just_ got back together. You sulked and moaned and groveled for weeks to win her back so you could cheat on her? What was even the point?"

"I didn't mean to do it, okay? I'm an idiot. I should be hung, drawn, and quartered."

"No shit." He rummages through the bottles, and pours some vodka into his drink. "Look, mate. We're none of us perfect here. But you know as well as I do that Rory doesn't deserve this, and neither does Gwen."

Logan's gaze flicks to Colin, who suddenly gets up from the chair he's been sullenly lounging in and strides across the room. He walks into the other suite without comment, slamming the door behind him.

"What's with him?" Logan asks.

"Are you kidding?" Finn stares at him as if he's never seen him before.

"Why is he sulking like the wronged party here?"

Finn backhands him lightly, brushing past him to the couch. "That's not what he's sulking about, idiot."

Logan's brow furrows with the confusion. "You gonna enlighten me?"

"You know what? You don't deserve to know." He rattles his drink as he takes a sip. "You going to tell Rory?" He asks after a second.

Logan groans, sinking into the chair across from him. "Not if I can help it."

"You don't think she'll find out anyways?"

"Are you going to tell her?"

"No."

"Is Colin?"

"I'll talk to him."

"Then we're good."

Finn chokes out a laugh "No you're not, all someone has to do is blab to Honor and you're screwed. Just tell her, Logan. Cover your ass now and she might forgive you."

Logan shakes his head. "She barely forgave me last time. There's no way in hell she'll do it again."

Finn's taps his fingers against the glass. "You're playing with fire here."

"Yeah well…I'm going back to Connecticut." He gets up, heading towards the door. "I have a lot of groveling to do."

"Yes, and showing up reeking of perfume and scotch with Gwen's lipstick on your collar is an excellent way to start," Finn drawls.

Logan stops, takes a whiff of himself and turns back to Finn.

Finn points wordlessly towards the bathroom.

* * *

It's almost five in the morning by the time Logan arrives back at his apartment in New Haven. He cracks the door open quietly, expecting to find Rory sound asleep but instead finds his apartment deserted, save a note on the table informing him she's gone home for the rest of the weekend. _Again_. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. It's bad enough being on Rory's shitlist, which he admittedly more than deserves, but Lorelai is even worse. That woman can verbally eviscerate him in seconds flat and she's made her opinion of him crystal clear.

Still, he knows he needs to go after her. He didn't mean for any of this to happen, he's just so frustrated with his graduation looming closer and closer. He's put off the real world as long as possible but it's only a matter of time before he has to start putting on a suit and tie everyday so he can smooze with room full of other rich, white men about interest rates and newspaper circulation.

His one bright spot is Rory. He loves her, truly he does. She amazes him constantly whether she's making an argument about Tolstoy or throwing together a cocktail party. She's beautiful and bright and when it comes to his future, his one path of resistance. If he has to join the family business and spend his days in boardrooms listening to people go on about things he could care less about, he wants to come home to a wife who has opinions about Nietzsche and can make him laugh with her Donald Trump impressions.

The idea that he jeopardized it all on a meaningless night with Gwen Valerie makes him sick with guilt.

He shouldn't have yelled last night. He was tired and frustrated and a little bit drunk. Mitchum had called while Rory was asleep on the table to lecture him about his grades and when she'd woken up and started in on his drinking he literally snapped from all the pressure.

There's been a layer of something between them lately. A distance he can't quite breach. Everything should be back to how it was. She's forgiven him. She loves him. But there's something wrong. She's quiet. Withdrawn. Distracted by something he can't even see. She's Wendy Darling, carrying a kiss in the corner of her mouth that he can't seem to get.

But he's going to change that. Starting today he's going to clean up his act. He'll quit drinking, he'll stay in with her when she wants, he won't cheat on her; he'll be the man Rory believes him to be and last night will become no more than an ugly memory.

Heading back to his car, he starts dialing his florist. He's going to need a hell of a bouquet.

* * *

Logan pulls into the Gilmore driveway, assessing Rory's house curiously. They've been together for almost two years now but he's only been here once before and it was dark. He couldn't see the cheery blue color or the wisteria winding along top of the porch or the overgrown hedges next to the driveway.

Luke looks up from the porch rail he's finagling with and gives him a casual wave as he gets out of the car.

"Logan," he greets him, wiping his hands on his pants. He puts on the façade of cordiality but Logan can tell he's less than pleased to see him.

"Hey, Luke. Rory around?"

"Ah well…she's not here exactly. She uh…my daughter is staying the weekend so Rory's actually staying at the diner instead."

"The diner?"

"I have an apartment above my—you know what, I was about to head over there anyways if you want to come with me."

"Uh yeah, sure."

Logan throws a last look at the quiet house and follows Luke to his truck.

He braces himself for the interrogation the entire ride to the center of town but Luke remains quiet, occasionally raising a hand to wave to a handful of curious passerby. Somehow the silence feels almost more unsettling than an interrogation would've been, like Luke knows something he doesn't. The entire trip is brief but Logan breathes a sigh of relief when Luke parks his trunk in front of the diner. He unlocks the door and gestures for him to follow.

"The apartment's right up there," he explains, gesturing to the top of the stairs. "Just knock on the door. Rory's probably still asleep."

"Thanks." Logan climbs the rickety stairs and taps on the door reading William's Hardware.

 **A/N: Thanks everyone for reading/reviewing/following/favoriting! Hope you all found this interesting, more to come!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Rory**

"I didn't want any flowers, I only wanted

To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.

How free it is, you have no idea how free—"

Sylvia Plath, "Tulips"

"Ace."

Logan's voice cuts into her dream and Rory stirs slightly at the nudge to her shoulder. She wakes slowly, her mind still fighting the urge to go back to sleep. Her pillow smells wrong, the feel of the cotton scratchy against her cheek.

"Logan?" She blinks drowsily in confusion, memories dawning on her slowly. The fight. Driving to Star's Hollow. The diner. Jess's old bed. She scrambles into a sitting position, sending _Please Kill Me_ clattering off the edge of the bed. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to find you. I went to your house and Luke brought me here and I'm not entirely sure what this place is but…I'm so sorry, Rory."

She runs a hand through her errant bed hair, still trying to process up what is unfolding before her. Logan is in Luke's apartment. Logan is in _Luke's_ apartment, sitting on the end of _Jess's_ old bed.

She blows out a breath. "I thought you were in New York."

"I was in New York," he answers softly, "but I was miserable and I came back early this morning."

"Oh," is all she manages to muster.

"I was an ass, okay?" He asserts. "I never should've yelled at you like that. You were right. You were right about all of it."

She raises her eyebrows. "I'm sorry, is Logan Huntzberger actually admitting he was wrong about something?"

"Yes," he concedes. "And I hope you're relishing this moment because it doesn't happen all that often. But it's true," he says softly. "I've been drinking too much, I was being an idiot. But I'm going to be better, Ace. I want to be better, I love you."

She takes the hand he's offering, her mind whirling. "I love you too. I was worried about you. I just want you to take better care of yourself."

He nods. "I'm going to cut back, alright?"

"Okay," she breathes. "Okay."

He runs his thumb over her palm. "Let me make it up to you, anything you want to do today."

She thinks for a second. "I kind of…I had my heart set on spending the day here in Star's Hollow." The words tumble out of her mouth in a rush but as soon as she says them it feels right. This town is her home and she belongs here, the question is whether or not Logan does too. "It's weird that you've never really been here, right?"

Logan nods attentively. "A little. I'm game though." He gives her one of his winning grins. "I can get the inside scoop on where _Rory Gilmore_ grew up."

"It's not that exciting." She affectionately knocks her shoulder against his. "There is a giant slinky though."

"You know," he slings an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer, "in all my travels I don't think I've ever seen a giant slinky."

"Good, because it'd be really embarrassing if I took you there and you'd already seen a bigger one in Kansas or something." She leans over to kiss his cheek and slides out of bed, going to her bag for her change of clothes.

Logan falls back on the bed while he waits for her, frowning as he feels something crinkles underneath him. He tugs it out from under his elbow curiously. "I never would've pegged Luke for a Distillers fan," he comments, holding up a ticket stub.

Rory straightens, clutching a pair of jeans to her chest, her eyes lock on the piece of paper held carelessly between Logan's fingers.

There's an identical ticket stuck in the mirror of her childhood bedroom.

Where did…her eyes flicker hastily to the copy of _Please Kill Me_ sitting face down on the floor. Of course. Jess never was the type to use proper bookmarks.

"He's not," she manages to stammer. "I um…borrowed that book from Lane. It must've fallen out."

Logan leans over to pick up the book and shoves the ticket stub back in, setting it on the nightstand. "They broke up, right?"

"What?" She stammers, more aggressively than intended.

"The Distillers?" He prompts. "I think I read something about them breaking up."

"I think it's just a hiatus. But you should ask Lane, she'd know for sure." She goes back to digging through her bag, pulling out a clean shirt. "I didn't think you were a fan," she adds as an afterthought.

"I'm not, but you are."

"How'd you know that?"

"You have several of their CD's?" He reminds her.

"Right. I did. I do." She runs hand through her hair, flustered. There's too much deceit in this room right now, too many things she's hiding from him. Even if she wasn't though, it would still be unsettling to have here of all places, he's too blonde, too polished…too Logan. "I'm sorry I'm just…can you just wait for me downstairs?"

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she answers quickly. "I just need to get dressed. Maybe you could go down and find us a newspaper?"

"Sure thing, Ace." He kisses her briefly with a lingering touch on her waist before he leaves the room.

She breathes a sigh of relief as soon as the door shuts behind him. Quickly throwing on her jeans and a t-shirt, she joins him downstairs shortly as promised.

The diner is fairly busy, even for seven in the morning. Logan sits at one of the tables with a copy of the _New York Times_ and a cup of coffee, regarding Babette with trepidation bordering on alarm.

"Rory, sweetie," Babette greets her. "I was just getting to know your fella here."

Rory plasters a smile on her face that doesn't quite reach her eyes and squeezes Logan's shoulder affectionately. "I hope you weren't regaling him with embarrassing stories," she jokes, sitting down next to him.

"Actually she was regaling me with the antics of Apricot the cat."

"How is Apricot?" She pipes cheerfully.

"He's doing good, honey. You should come by later and say hello."

"I absolutely will," Rory assures her.

Luke cuts in, setting a cup of coffee down in front of her. "Rory," he greets her in his typically brusque manner. "You look tired."

"That's what they invented coffee for, Luke," she pipes.

He sighs. "You want French toast?"

"And bacon," Rory adds. "And a blueberry muffin."

"Logan?"

"I'll just have the scrabbled eggs," he requests with a chuckle. "Thanks."

Luke gives him a curt nod. "It'll be right up," he assures them before he walks away.

"It's good to see you, Sugar," Babette pats Rory's hand. "I know you were home last weekend but we just don't get enough of you now that you're off at that fancy college, you know?"

"It's good to see you too, Babette," she appeases, moving her elbow so Luke can set down her muffin.

"I should let you two enjoy your breakfast." Babette pats Rory's hand and gets up.

Logan smirks over the rim of his coffee cup, causing Rory to laugh. "What?"

"Nothing."

"She told you something completely embarrassing didn't she?"

"There may have been something about a fairy ring and a peanut butter sandwich," he tells her, smiling. "Which I'd like to remind you is nowhere near as embarrassing as the story Honor told you about the time I wet my pants at Disneyland."

Rory reaches over him to grab the newspaper. "That's probably true. If it makes you feel any better it took me four months to learn how to ride a bike."

"I'm shocked it took you four months to learn anything."

She flicks open the paper with warning stare. "Flattery is not going to get you the world news section any quicker."

"Hey it was worth a shot."

Rory throws him an amused glance over the top of the paper but she doesn't get very far before she's interrupted again.

"Rory, nice to see you again," Taylor greets her. "Weren't you just home last weekend?"

"I was," she answers. "I'm actually just here for today though. Taylor, meet my boyfriend Logan Huntzberger, Logan, this is Taylor Doose, he's the town selectman and he also owns the market and the ice cream shop next door."

Logan gets up to shake his hand. "It's nice to know the small business isn't dead. Pleasure to meet you sir."

Flattered, Taylor pumps out his chest. "And you as well young man. Are you a businessman yourself?"

"Not if I can help it," Logan jokes amicably.

"Logan's minoring in business," Rory clarifies.

"An excellent degree choice. You know if you ever need any advice…"

"Absolutely," Logan assures him, while Rory tries not to chortle.

Luckily, Luke emerges from the kitchen and sets their food down, effectively distracting Taylor.

"Luke," he starts, "I need you to sign this." He thrusts a form towards Luke who snatches it from his hands and starts to read his brow furrowing more with every sentence.

"Hell no," he says after a minute, shoving the form back at Taylor.

"But as a local business owner you have to sign off on this or—"

"No," Luke protests loudly. "I am not in any fathomable universe signing off on the decision to allow horse drawn carriages to park in front of my store, ever."

"It's good for tourism," Taylor insists. "It's romantic." He turns to Rory and Logan. "Would you ride in a horse drawn carriage if we had them here in Star's Hollow?"

"Well Taylor I'm not really a fan of—" Rory starts.

"—there is nothing romantic about wading through streets filled with horse manure!" Luke interjects.

"But if you would just—"

"No. No, no, no, no, no, and NO. And if that somehow confuses you, I will figure out how to say no in every single language."

"Let's be reasonable here if you would—"

"If you wanna go to New York and pay a small fortune to ride in carriage pulled by a poor, tired horse that defecates everywhere, well it's a free country, I can't stop you, but like hell am I allowing that nauseating experience to happen in front of my diner."

"Luke—"

"Out." Luke points to the door.

Taylor's mouth twists into a sour expression. "We're revisiting this at the next town meeting."

"Where I will tell you once again, no. Now get out."

Taylor throws a last glare behind him before he walks out the door.

"If you ever write a novel," Logan tells Rory under his breath, "you are going to have so much material."

Rory nods in response, distracted as Liz walks into the diner. She gives them a friendly wave but goes directly to the counter to wait for Luke.

Does she know? Rory wonders. She shakes her head at the idea. There's no way she could know, Jess may have changed but she can't imagine a world where he'd be that communicative with his mother.

Rory watches as Luke shakes his head, putting a cup of coffee in front of his sister with a clang. Liz nods at what he says, talking enthusiastically with her hands. She bears no resemblance to her son beyond their brown eyes but there's occasional glimpses of him in her gestures, the way she taps her hands against her mug, the way her jaw sort of clenches when she nods.

"You ready, Ace?" Logan throws a handful of bills on the table, interrupting her musing.

"Oh yeah. Sure," she answers hurriedly. "Luke," she calls. "We're heading over to the house. Thank you for breakfast."

He gives her a wave goodbye, distracted by Liz.

With Lorelai at the Inn, the house is quiet. Rory cracks open the back door, peering inside.

"April?" She calls. Assuming she's still asleep, Rory walks quietly into the kitchen, noticing the addition of enormous vase of roses and baby's breath on the table that was certainly not there the night before. Her mother often has flowers in the house, daisies, sunflowers, sometimes roses, but never anything like these. There's at least sixty roses, all of them a deep gorgeous red.

"I had them sent over this morning," Logan explains. "I didn't realize you'd be at the diner."

Rory takes a step forward, staring. There's nothing subtle about these flowers or their message. They're an ornament, a beautiful, expensive ornament that clashes ostentatiously with their humble surroundings. They don't beg for her forgiveness, they merely seek to pacify her anger. She swallows, suddenly reminded of a line in a Sylvia Plath poem where she compares her tulips to, _"A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck._ _"_

"I really am sorry, Ace," Logan tells her sincerely. He rests a hand gently on the small of her back.

"I can see that." she leans in closer, breathing in the incredible scent. "They're beautiful. Thank you."

"I love you," he says in her ear. "Please believe that."

She nods, the soft petals brushing against her face and her mind jumps, against her will it seems, to the memory of a single sunflower resting on the cracked leather seat of a car that had seen better days.

" _Paris," Rory sighs. The two of them walk out of the school, Madeline and Louise trailing along side them, arguing about whether or not scrunchies are passé. "Headmaster Charleston is not going to expel Brad just because he annoys you."_

" _I know that," Paris groans. "I just need to right angle. There's got to be a way to crack the crusty old bigot."_

" _Or you could just let it go," Rory urges. "What is so bad about—" She stops in her tracks at the sight of Jess standing towards the front of the parking lot, leaning against his car._

" _Ouch, what the—" Madeline complains._

" _Who is_ that _?" Louise eyes him appreciatively._

 _Rory brushes past her, leaving her friends behind. "What are you doing here?" She asks him as soon as she's close enough for him to hear._

 _Jess shrugs. "I didn't have to work after all. Figured since I was already in Hartford I'd see if you wanted a ride home." He gives her a wry smirk, nodding his head towards Paris, Madeline and Louise. "Nice posse."_

 _Rory pulls open the car door. "We should go before they descend." She pulls off her backpack and tosses it in the back, noticing just before she sits down that there's a single sunflower lying across her seat._

" _What's this?" She sits down, waving the flower at him._

 _Next to her, Jess turns on the ignition, steering the car into the long line of students leaving the lot. "Huh. Wonder where that came from."_

 _She holds the sunflower to her nose and breathes in, even though it doesn't really have a scent. "How did you know I liked sunflowers?"_

" _I stole your diary," he answers flippantly._

" _That's weird, I don't keep a diary."_

" _Maybe I'm psychic then."_

 _She turns to face him, crossing her arms. "Or…?"_

" _I asked Lane," he finally admits sheepishly._

" _You did?" She chirps._

" _Yeah, and I would've bought you more than one too but she charged me ten bucks and the use of my Kinks CD just for the information so..."_

 _She twirls the flower between her fingers. "She is quiet the little extortionist."_

" _You know, she doesn't look scary."_

" _Did you give her a reason to be?" She inquires wryly._

" _She automatically assumed I was in trouble with you, which made her very reluctant to help me."_

 _Rory smiles and sets the flower in the cup holder where it won't get mussed. "Well thank you anyways." She leans over to kiss his cheek._

" _You're welcome," he answers. He tries to hide it but she can see his face cracking into a smile._

" _So where are we going?" She asks excitedly._

" _You got some time before you have to be home?"_

" _I have some time," she assures him._

" _How about Bridgeport, then."_

" _What's in Bridgeport?"_

 _He turns to her with an amused glint in his eyes. "No idea."_

"Wow, that is an enormous bouquet," a voice says behind her. Rory loses her train of thought, turning around to see her soon to be step-sister standing pajama clad in her doorway.

"Hi, April," she greets.

"Good morning," she answers, shooting a puzzled look at Logan.

"Right, sorry," Rory lets out, slightly rattled. "April, this is my boyfriend Logan Huntzberger. Logan, my step-sister to-be, April Nardini."

"Nice to meet you."

April shakes his hand, eyeing him carefully. "Likewise."

Rory heaves an internal sigh of relief as Logan engages in a conversation with April about the giant slinky, leaving her alone to collect her thoughts.

Somehow, she smiles and carries on a conversation as April agrees to get dressed and come with them. She tries to stay in the moment as they visit the slinky and the mean duck family, followed by lunch at the Dragonfly but some part of her feels like she did last fall, a sleepwalker in her own life.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you all enjoyed this. I would love to hear your thoughts. I hope you all don't find the Plath too excessive but I recently read Ariel and something about the themes she engages, and the way she writes, really speaks to me in terms of this situation, especially in regards to Rory.**

 **Up next is Jess, followed by Gwen, who I know you're all curious about.**

 **Thanks for reading, reviewing etc!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Jess**

"Kiss me, and you will see how important I am."  
― Sylvia Plath, _The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath_

Jess groans at the shrill sound of the ringing phone.

Auden rolls over, kicking his leg. "Jess," she slurs sleepily. "Phone…ringing."

"I have ears, Auden."

"So answer it," she begs.

"Ignore it."

Grabbing her pillow, she folds it over her head, trying to muffle the sound. "Who the hell calls you this early on a Sunday morning?"

"Satan," he mumbles sarcastically.

The phone finally quits ringing only to start up a second later.

"Satan can go to hell," she whines. Frustrated, she leans off the bed and fumbles for the cordless phone amid the clothes and books scattered on Jess's floor. "Who the hell is this?"

"This is Liz Danes," a woman replies defensively. "Who the hell is _this_?"

"Auden."

There's a long pause.

"Is Jess there?"

Auden covers the phone with her mouth and nudges Jess. "It's Liz?"

He rolls over onto his back throwing a hand over his eyes. "My mother," he answers quietly. "Hang up."

She grins wickedly and moves her hand off the mouthpiece. "Sure, he's right here," she holds out the phone to him.

He sits up, taking it from her with a scathing glare. "What?" He barks.

"Good morning to you too, son," his mother chirps cheerfully. "Sorry, did I interrupt something?"

"Yeah. Sleeping."

"Who's the girl?"

Jess pinches the bridge of his nose, glancing at the alarm clock on his dresser. It's seven-thirty in the morning. "I am not having this conversation."

"You're so secretive," Liz complains briskly. "You and Luke both, would it kill you to tell me things once in awhile? And are you coming home any time soon? You haven't been home in ages."

"Star's Hollow isn't home," he protests.

"Home is where your family is, Jess."

She launches into a tirade about Star's Hollow and he rolls his eyes, looking at Auden.

"You suck," he mouths.

She grins, giving his leg a playful kick and he grabs her ankle, holding it gently so she can't kick him any more. She tries to pull it out of his grasp but he tugs her closer and she topples over, landing on top of him with a shriek of laughter.

"…and then Kirk just falls out of the tree, beekeeping suit and all," Liz finishes her tirade with a laugh. "Oh and I had dinner with Luke and Lorelai the other night. They've changed their wedding date but they're still getting married later in June…I wrote it down for you but I can't find it. I'll get it to you."

"Great," he answers non-committally.

Auden makes a face and Jess finally releases her ankle. Leaning off the edge of the bed, she tries to reach the strap of her bag without getting up. After struggling for a minute, half on the floor, half on the bed, she finally gives up and slinks out of bed, rummaging through her bag for a cigarette.

"I'm just so excited my big brother is finally getting married. I know he and Lorelai were having some issues with the whole April thing but I guess they've worked it out. Just wait till you meet her, she's just a doll."

He rolls his eyes. "I've already met her."

"What? When?"

Auden's head emerges from her bag, triumphantly clutching a cigarette in her hand but sans a lighter. She holds up her cigarette sadly, giving him a shrug and Jess nods in understanding, getting up to hunt through his top drawer for a lighter.

"Two weeks ago when she and Luke came to the open house," he reminds his mother, distractedly sorting through handfuls of change, gum wrappers, condoms and stray pens.

"Oh that's right, I forgot about that."

He finally finds a lighter and tosses it to Auden.

She catches it easily and lights her cigarette right away, quickly filling the room with the sweet scent of cloves.

"Would you at least open a window?" Jess chides her quietly, tuning Liz out.

Auden rolls her eyes but throws open the sash, curling up on the sill, she leans out onto the fire escape.

He watches her for a second, admiring the elegance of the moment, her tousled red hair, the way her oversized sweatshirt hangs off one shoulder. Her sketchbook lies carelessly on the floor and she picks it up, thumbing through it with one hand, her cigarette hanging gracefully from the other. There's something very classic about the way she balances it between her fingers, taking a drag with a pronounced pout.

"—Lorelai's daughter was home from Yale again this weekend. Have you met Rory yet?"

The name hurtles his attention back to the conversation so abruptly it feels like his brain should be experiencing whiplash.

" _Trust me."_

" _I barely know you."_

" _Well don't I look trustworthy?"_

"—you really should," Liz continues. "I think you're the same age. She's such a gorgeous girl and she's so—"

"—we know each other," he finally manages to get out.

"You do?"

" _I can't catch my breath."_

" _You're not supposed to."_

"Liz, I know you've smoked a lot of pot in your life but do you not remember shipping me off Connecticut? The cops probably called less frequently, you maybe had to buy less food?"

"You know that smart mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one of these days," Liz chides. "And it's not that crazy, I think Rory went to private school and _you_ didn't go to school period. But since you do know each other, you two should catch up at the wedding."

"Sure, whatever," he says flippantly

"She was at the diner this morning with her boyfriend," Liz continues. "She looked so sad though, like one of those politician's wives after their husband gets caught in a sex scandal."

Jess bangs his head lightly against the wall in frustration. "Jesus, Liz."

"Hey, it's the truth. She looked like Hillary Clinton after the Lewinsky scandal."

He sighs. Rory, who he knows has always held Hillary Clinton in high regard, would probably not appreciate that particular comparison.

"Rory's a wonderful girl," Liz continues. "She's very smart. And so pretty. I could kill for those eyes and—"

He cuts her off before this conversation can become any worse. "That ship has sailed, okay?"

"What?"

He groans. She's going to make him say it. "It means exactly what it sounds like."

"Wait…you mean you two…why did no one tell me? No one ever tells me anything!"

"They do, too. You just don't listen when other people talk."

"No one told me that," she insists. "God, I feel like an idiot."

"I was standing _right_ next to you when Lorelai told you that," he reminds her.

"Please, I don't think I've ever even seen you and Lorelai in the same room."

"At your wedding," he prompts.

"Oh my god!" She bursts. "You're right! I guess I didn't make the connection. That's so trippy, don't you think? You used to date and now she's going to be your—"

"And yet somehow that didn't deter you from...whatever the hell that was."

"Well if you wanted another shot…"

He rolls his eyes. "I'm hanging up now."

"Oh c'mon. She looks so sad, Jess. At let me tell you, the boyfriend was not wildly popular here—"

" _I'm_ not wildly popular there."

"—Patty thinks he's too charming to not be hiding something and Taylor loves him which of course made everyone else question their decision and Luke said he was a putz."

"Would you just stop," he pleads.

"I'm just saying—"

"Is there a reason you called me this early in the morning on Sunday? Or is _this_ really what you wanted to talk to me about?"

There's a slight scuffle on the other end. "Is it really that early? I've been up since five. I just had this jewelry-making surge. I made these gorgeous earrings. I'll send you some."

"I don't need any earrings. "

"Not for you! For your girlfriend, Audrey or whatever her name is."

Jess shakes his head, trying to process the erratic manner in which his mother has gone from trying to set him up with Rory to wanting to send Auden earrings. "She's not my—you know what. Great. Thanks."

"So what, is she your—"

"I'm officially hanging up now."

"Use protection," she warns.

Jess makes a noise in the back of his throat and presses the end button on the cordless with relish.

He tosses the phone on the bed and comes to stand behind Auden at the window, reaching over to take her cigarette. She relinquishes it and he takes a long, relishing drag.

"You hate cloves," she points out. She's sketching now, filling the paper with a series of thick bold lines.

"I need the nicotine."

"What'd your mom want?"

He exhales a breath of smoke aiming it out the window. "I have no idea. I doubt _she_ has any idea."

"She called you twice at seven on a Sunday morning and she didn't have a reason?"

"Liz rarely has a reason for doing anything." With his free hand, he toys with the ends of her russet hair, admiring the way it glints in the early morning sun. He could do a whole writing exercise trying to describe the color of her hair if he put his mind to it.

He likes Auden. Free spirited and fun, she never asks anything more from him than he's willing to give. They fell naturally into their casual friends with benefits relationship months ago and it's provided him some measure of solace in the two weeks since Rory walked into his life only to turn around and walk right back out.

 _Rory._

Liz said she looked unhappy, and reading between the lines it sounded like she there were still some underlining issues with the boyfriend. He doesn't want that for her. When she told him she loved the jackass that day he was willing to let it go. For now.

Maybe he shouldn't have. Because she deserves better than someone who cheats on her, even if that person isn't him. He shakes his head. Who is he kidding though? As her ex-boyfriend he's the last person who should be advising her on her love life and if he'd argued with her, she not only would've called him on that, but possibly pushed him away completely. He doesn't want that either. Come the end of June, they're going to be in each other's lives whether they like it or not.

He exhales another breath, staring out at the city. It is what it is.

"You're brooding again," Auden drawls lazily.

That's another thing he likes about Auden, she doesn't tolerate his bullshit. If he's brooding or just generally being a jackass, she calls him on it. He never thought that was something he'd want in relationship of any kind, but after fighting it for most of his life, he's come to realize that it's actually nice to have someone care. Luke. Auden. Matt. Leo. Even Liz. It's not the life he ever pictured for himself but it's certainly less lonely.

"Sorry."

"I'm going to assume you don't want to talk about it."

He leans over her to stub out the end of the cigarette on the cool metal of the fire escape. "You assume correctly."

"Well it was worth a shot."

He slides down against the wall so he's sitting on the floor beneath her. "What are you sketching?"

"I'm just experimenting. I kind of like the lines on the building across the street. I think it would be cool to do something with sculpture maybe? I'm seeing something made of paper and metal. There's a good dichotomy there somewhere."

He lets out a low chuckle. "You're never going to commit to a medium, are you?"

She clucks her tongue her pencil scraping sideways across the page. "I'm not committing to anything but art itself."

"Well, at least you know what you want." His words spill out more bitterly than he intended.

She looks up from her sketchpad, eyeing him for a second like she can see right through him. Her mouth twists like she wants to say something but something changes her mind because she turns her attention back to her sketchpad without comment.

Jess rests his head against the wall, the two of them sinking into a companionable silence, marked by the sounds of the city waking up beneath them and the occasional scratch of Auden's pencil.

Their silence is interrupted by an ear splitting guitar rift that practically shakes the floorboards.

"What the—"

"Leo," Jess groans. "Celia must've left her amp here."

"I thought she was in New York all week?"

"She is. This is Leo's," he raises his voice over the recorded clash of guitars, " _passive aggressive_ way of saying we were too loud last night."

Auden snorts. "I think by we, you mean me."

He smirks. "And here, I was trying to be a gentleman." He goes over to the bedroom door and throws it open.

"Jesus, Leo we get it, turn it the fuck down!" He calls out over the opening vocals.

 _I lost my baby to a foreign war  
She was cut down in the gunfire of the western world_

Either Leo doesn't hear him or he doesn't care because the music continues to blare.

 _She was livin' in sin, I was livin' in a lie  
She was caught up in the glimmer of a rich mans eye  
I couldn't see her from the other side  
They said son "there is no glory in your pride."_

Auden watches with confusion as the strangest look crosses Jess's face. There's anger at first, followed by a sharp expression of pain as he suddenly picks up a shoe off the floor and without warning, hurls it across the living room. It hits Leo's bedroom door with enough force to make it rattle.

He stands there for a second, not moving.

"Jess?"

He turns around, his expression blank. "Do you wanna get out of here?" He asks quietly. "Breakfast maybe?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

 _I will wait at the Brandenburg Gate  
At the Brandenburg Gate I'll wait  
_

"Can we just get out of here?" He runs a hand through his hair. "Please?" He adds, his eyes pleading with her.

She bites her lip. In all the time she's known him, he's never looked at her like that. In fact, she can't remember him ever really asking her for anything. It's a flash of vulnerability she's not sure if she likes. In her experience with men, it typically leads to other things; expectations, promises, 'I love you's,' attempts to tie her down and make her to stay when all she wants is to be free.

But at the same time, it's Jess who's asking and he's never been anything but a good and supportive friend to her. Not every guy has taken her free spirited nature and erratic schedule in a stride but he's never complained, never called her a slut, never asked her for a commitment she won't give.

Her face softens. "Only if you go get my shoe?"

He gives her the weakest of smiles. "Sure."

The diner around the corner is packed already but they manage to slip into a sticky vinyl both in the back. Jess nurses a strong cup of coffee while she peruses the menu for something a vegetarian.

"So do you want to talk about it?" She asks carefully, setting the menu down after deciding on a Belgian waffle. "Because I've known Leo a long time and he's not really into passive aggressive."

Jess toys idly with one of the creamers that came with his coffee. "You're right."

"So?"

He sighs. "I've been kind of a dick lately and Leo's been…pissed off about it. It's just typical roommate…fighting."

She swirls her tea bag around her mug, watching it slowly stain the water brown.

"I don't mean to pry or anything but you've been kind of weird all week and I just figured…we're friends right?"

"Yeah, of course."

"So I'm here if you do eventually…want to talk about it. That's all."

"Thanks, Auden."

The harried waitress arrives, taking their orders in a rush and takes off with the menus. When she leaves, they sit in an awkward silence, Auden afraid to press further, Jess afraid to admit what's really wrong.

"So apparently my uncle is getting married at the end of June," he finally offers nonchalantly.

She raises her eyebrows suggestively. Maybe she shouldn't have caved to the vulnerability thing after all. "Mazel tov," she says dryly.

"Relax," Jess assures her with a smirk. "I'm not asking you to come as my girlfriend or anything. Although if you wanted to come, I could use someone to run inference and keep me from punching the town selectman."

"The town what?"

"The mayor," he clarifies.

"You're going to punch the mayor?"

"Well I wasn't planning on it but he tends to bring it out the urge."

She chortles. "Okay, I know you said you lived in a small town for a while. But how small are we talking here?"

"Postage stamp."

She makes a face. "I'll think about it. I'm leaving the first week of July so I might not be able to swing a side trip to Connecticut."

He grins, the first genuine smile she's seen from him all morning. "You got the fellowship?"

"Yep. Four months of collaborative art study in Latin America. I'm excited because they're doing some really interesting things with fishing nets."

He cocks his head with interest. "Fishing nets, huh?"

She nods, going on to explain the process and he listens intently, her words helping him to finally keep the painful thoughts of Rory temporarily tucked away.

* * *

 **A/N: Please excuse the anachronism. "Brandenburg Gate" is an Anti-Flag song that just came out this year. I really wanted to include it because the lyrics fit so perfectly into how I think Jess must've been feeling.**

 **What do you all think of this delve into Jess's life in Philadelphia? Do you all like Auden or completely hate her? Either way I had a blast writing her. I always hate it when people make "not Rory" into some sort of slut shamed vapid individual with no personality so I've really made an effort to make both her and Gwen well rounded interesting people. I realize they're both sort of artists (whoops!) although Gwen is more on the academic/curatorial side while Auden is an actual artist.**

 **Thank you all for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Gwen**

"The floor seemed wonderfully solid. It was comforting to know I had fallen and could fall no farther."

-Sylvia Plath, _The Bell Jar_

 **Three Weeks Later**

The flimsy plastic device shakes between Gwen's two trembling fingers. Two little blue lines confirm what she already knows to be true.

There's no more room for denial or speculation. For once, this is more than one too many margaritas, or a bad oyster. She is, without a doubt, pregnant.

The bathroom suddenly feels too bright, too harsh, the weight this knowledge presses heavily on her chest and she draws shallow breaths, trying to get air into her lungs.

The harsh buzzer for her apartment goes off twice in quick succession. It's Walker, here for their weekly Sunday morning brunch reservation. As usual, she's ten minutes late, impatient as all hell, and likely hung-over and hungry to boot. Taking a breath, Gwen grabs her toothbrush. Slapping some toothpaste in it and shoving it into the corner of her mouth, she ducks out of the bathroom and stabs the answer button in the hall.

"I'll be down in a second," she barks.

"We're going to lose our reservation," Walker complains.

"Two minutes," Gwen insists.

Strolling back into the bathroom she spits into the sink and picks up the pregnancy test off the floor, burying it deep in the trashcan as if she can pretend this isn't happening. Grabbing her clutch, she runs a quick hand through her hair, squares her shoulders, and steals herself for an afternoon with Walker. There's no time right now to think about what this confirmation means or why Logan won't call her back or what she's going to do about any of it.

"Jesus, Gwen, you look like hell," Walker greets her as she steps outside. "Haven't you ever heard of concealer?"

"Haven't you ever heard of tact?" Gwen snaps.

Walker eyes her strangely. "What's up your butt today?"

"I just...had one too many mojitos last night is all."

"The eggs benedict at Silver's will clear that right up," Walker assures her, flagging down a cab.

Gwen swallows her nausea at the thought of eggs and slides in after her.

* * *

The restaurant is packed for Sunday brunch, she and Walker just barely squeak inside in time for their reservation. Gwen tries to pay attention as Walker goes on about the stockbroker she hooked up with and whether or not she should she should've gone with the silver hardware or the gold on her new Prada bag.

All she can think about though, as she picks at her fruit plate, is the giant question mark hanging above her like the sword of Damocles. A baby. Logan's baby, God help her.

"—but Honor thinks I should've gone with the silver. I don't know, I mean I don't have the skin tone to pull off silver. But at the same time I think the gold might look trashy, I don't want to look cheap—God, Gwen are you seriously going to make me drink this whole bottle of champagne by myself?"

Walker pushes an expensive bottle of champagne towards her.

Gwen eyes it carefully. She hasn't made any decisions yet but somehow just in case...

"I'm good."

Walker cocks her head, regarding her friend curiously. "Are you sure you're okay? I've never seen you turn down champagne. Like ever. Not even after that time you and Honor drank like three bottles of Dom and flashed all those marathon runners."

Gwen brushes a lock of hair out of her face. "I'm fine. Where is Honor anyways?"

"Didn't she tell you?" Walker stabs a piece of asparagus from her frittata. "She and Josh went up to Martha's Vineyard this weekend with Logan and Rory."

It takes a moment for Gwen to fully process the sequence of words ending with Logan and Rory. "They what?"

"They went to Martha's Vineyard to do boring couple things," she replies distractedly. "Hey, are you going to eat that?"

Gwen pushes her plate towards Walker. "Help yourself. I'm not very hungry. When did Rory and Logan get back together?"

"Back together?" Her brow puckers for a second as she mentally flips through her history of Rory and Logan's relationship. "They've been together since January. I mean there was that spat at Honor's wedding but they didn't—" Her whole face lights up as the line of questioning dawns on her. "Wait, is that how Logan got you to sleep with him? God, Megan and I were wondering about that. I mean you may be a slut but you're like… a moral slut."

"He said..." Gwen thinks back, trying to remember what exactly he'd said regarding his relationship with Rory but her memory of that night is fuzzy at best. What she does remember is his strange behavior afterwards and his sudden haste to get away from her. At the time she chalked it up to wanting to get back to his guys weekend with Colin and Finn or something but now...now she sees the guilt-ridden face of a cheating boyfriend.

Bile rises in her throat.

"I have to go." She excuses herself quickly, making a beeline for the ladies room. She brushes hurriedly past a group of socialites clustered around the sinks; their surprised looks barely registering as she drops to her knees in one of the stalls and retches up her meager brunch.

Their chatter stops for a moment, everyone standing in silence until one sympathetic girl starts up again, mentioning some article in the _New York Times_. The rest of them latch on to the conversation like a life preserver until they leave the bathroom, the babble of their voices trailing behind them.

Gwen rests her head against the edge of the toilet, tears stinging her eyes, and tries to pull herself together.

The door creaks open, and a familiar pair of Jimmy Choos click past her stall. "Gwen?" Walker asks softly.

"I'm here," Gwen sniffs, her voice echoing in the quiet room. "I'm fine. Just give me a minute."

She reaches over to flush the toilet and stands, wiping her eyes.

The heels click past her again and the stall door swings open, revealing her stern faced friend. Walker can be vapid, obnoxious, vengeful, and a terrible drunk when she wants to be but despite that, she is not nearly as stupid as she wants people to believe. She gives Gwen a once over, taking in her puffy eyes and Gwen knows she doesn't have to say anything. Walker pulls her towards her, wrapping her into a hug.

* * *

It takes four cryptic voicemails spread over the span of a week before she manages to get Logan to answer his phone.

"What is it, Gwen?" He barks when he finally picks up.

She hears music in the background, something folk-y sounding. Finn's voice cuts in, yelling something about incest, followed by a bark of Robert's laughter, and Rory's rebuke.

"I—" she starts, thrown off by the sound of Rory's voice

"Listen Gwen," Logan begins. The background noise recedes and she can tell he's walking further away from his friends. "I'm sorry but I'm not interested in—"

"I'm pregnant," she blurts.

There's a sharp intake of breath.

"Are you sure?" He asks hurriedly.

"Positive," she answers firmly. "Doctor confirmed it and everything."

"I meant, are you sure it's mine?"

Gwen rolls her eyes. "I haven't been with anyone else lately, so yes."

" _Lately_? What the hell does that mean?"

"Logan—"

"It can't be me. I mean we—"

"I'm three weeks in and I haven't been with anyone else since I broke up with Matt in December. It's May. Do the math."

"No…" His voice is desperate. "No it's…it can't be."

"Logan," she pleads softly. "I know this is a lot. And I'm not asking you for anything. If you don't want anything to do with this, that's fine but I thought you should know at least. I haven't really made any decisions and there's still plenty of time to think this over. Just—"

The line goes dead.

Gwen sighs, turning the phone over in her hand. She could call him back but she knows it will just ring straight to voicemail. He may come around eventually but something tells her whatever she decides, she's on her own.

Her phone begins to vibrate in her hand.

Well, maybe not all alone. At least she has one confidant.

She presses the answer button. "Hey, Walker."

"Did you tell him?" She demands shrilly.

"I did."

"How did he take it?"

Gwen sighs. "Pretty much how I expected."

Walker lets out a sympathetic noise. "Want me to kick his ass?"

"No," she assures her firmly. "I think he just needs some time to process it."

"What if he doesn't? What if he just—"

"—then I'll make this decision on my own."

"Gwen—"

"Just leave him be. It's a lot to handle. And he's got Rory to think about."

"You're seriously telling me you're going to sit around and wait for him to pull his head out of his ass?"

"No, I'm going to think this through and if he has any opinion about it, he knows where to find me. Either way, whatever I decide to do, I'll tell him."

"That's so unfair," Walker protests. "I mean this is half his fault and you're just going to absolve him from all responsibility?"

"What else I am I supposed to do? I don't _need_ anything from him, not really. I have a job and health insurance. Whatever I decide, I'll manage."

"Gwen, you live in the most expensive city in the world on $36,000 a year and the interest from your trust fund."

"Look, I appreciate the concern but I'll figure it out, okay?"

"Well what about Rory? Are you going to tell her? I mean she has a right to know, doesn't she?"

Gwen shakes her head, watching her little corgi Frieda as she trots into the room. "Logan's relationship with Rory is the least of my problems, Walker. I mean it's not really any of my business and I have more than enough to deal with as it is."

"But—" Walker protests.

"I know you mean well," Gwen cuts in, sensing a tirade. "But leave it alone, okay?"

"Fine," she huffs in response. "But you do realize how completely unfair this, right?"

"Believe me," Gwen reassures her, patting her lap for Frieda to jump into. "I know."

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry I've been away for so long everyone! I needed a bit of a fandom break but I'm back and writing again. Please look for more from this and from Picking in the Pieces in the coming weeks. Thanks so much for your patience, you've all been such wonderful supportive readers and I really appreciate it! Best wishes!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: Rory**

 _A difference between us?  
I have one eye, you have two.  
The secret is stamped on you,  
Faint, undulant watermark._

 _Will it show in the black detector?_  
 _Will it come out_

 _Wavery, indelible, true_

 **Sylvia Plath, A Secret**

"We're late, we're late, we are _so_ late." Rory hops around the room, tugging the slingback on her shoe.

Logan groans, wrapping his silk tie around his hand as he adjusts it in the mirror. "All the more reason to skip it."

"We can't skip this," she insists. "You told your Dad you'd go."

"It's just a cocktail party, Ace," he sighs in frustration. "It's just going to be a bunch of obnoxious people patting themselves on the back for all the money they gave for this stupid new computer lab."

"But it's a cocktail party with Pulitzer Prize winning alumni," she chirps excitedly.

He meets her eyes in the mirror, wishing he had even an iota of her enthusiasm. "I hate to break it to you, but Marie Colvin is probably not going to be there."

"Yes but Dr. Trent said Linda Greenhouse might be," she comments, digging her clutch out from under the pile of dresses she had thrown on the bed. "She gave a bunch of money. " She finally unearths her bag and turns it over in her hand, frowning at the lack of space in it for a book. "And even if she isn't, I know Professor Cantor is going to be there and I desperately need to talk her about reinstating the York Street parking privileges next semester."

"Since when does the _Daily News_ not have parking privileges?" He pats his pockets for his wallet.

"While Paris was editor-in-chief, two parking attendants took an early retirement, one went into rehab and I think one is still in the hospital."

Logan chortles, her mention of the _Daily News_ reminding him of something. "You know you don't need me to get in. You got invited on your own."

Her lips quirk into a hint of a proud smile. "I know. But I want to spend the evening with _you_."

He gives her the smallest a hint of a smile but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Can we at least bail early?" He pleads. "It's Saturday night. I'm not spending the whole night kissing ass just for Mitchum's—"

"Your tie clip is crooked," she points out, ignoring his whining. If she lets him really get going she'll never get him out the apartment. Taking a step towards him, she leans over and tugs the clip out, smoothing his shirt and tie back into place. He smells incredible, like cedar and citrus and whatever else it is that comes in a tiny expensive bottle with a long French name.

"What would I do without you?" He blurts quietly. There's something almost wistful in his expression, like he's expecting she'll disappear any second.

She doesn't look up, concentrating on fitting the clip back properly. It's sterling silver and probably worth more than her mother's car. "It's just a tie clip, Logan," she replies, her voice trembling with a hint of humor. "I'm pretty sure you mastered these in the second grade along with cuff links and cummerbunds."

He laughs, pulling her flush against him. "It's actually called a tie bar, Ace."

"You're just proving my point here Huntzberger," she teases. "There," she pronounces, finishing her adjustments. She runs a hand up his chest, resting it gently on his shoulder. He's been a model boyfriend these last few weeks, always affectionate, hardly drinking, constantly surprising her with coffees. It's been a nice halcyon period in the midst of the stormy few months they've had.

She tilts her head up to kiss his cheek but he catches her mouth, gently brushing his lips over hers.

"Love you, Ace," he murmurs against her lips.

She gently squeezes his arm, deepening the kiss.

Up until now, the 'I love you's' of the men in her life were always so fraught. With Dean it rarely felt like a sentiment but more like a constant reminder of his deep insecurity. If she didn't say it back right away, every time, he was prone to fits of sullen behavior.

Jess had been the opposite; his one breathless confession was more apology than anything and if he wanted something from her in return he had no clue what it was. Thinking about it always makes her ache in a deep-seated way, she doesn't understand.

But Logan, when Logan tells her he loves her, it feels simple, easy. It doesn't spark feelings of resentfully buried obligation or a painful ache in her chest. Instead it reminds her of the feeling when she'd jumped off the scaffolding hand and hand with him, like she's been swept into the middle of something wonderful and secret, a journey that started without her and will continue on after she was gone.

He breaks off the kiss, propping his forehead against hers. She expects a small smile, a joke even but instead there's something haunted in his expression. She's noticed this occurring more and more lately, even with his sudden good boyfriend efforts, there's been a hint of something distant.

He's been glued to his phone but refuses to answer it half the time it rings and she constantly catches him staring off into space. She knows he isn't sleeping much either; he stays up later and later every night claiming he's preparing for finals and he's up before her almost every morning.

The whole thing has been concerning, it's not in his nature to brood, but she chalks it up to the fact graduation is looming ever closer, and with it, Mitchum's expectations for him. He won't talk about it and she won't force the issue, not when they've finally managed to stop fighting, but she knows there's something he's not telling her.

"Love you too," she murmurs back, planting a light peck on his lips before she pulls away. "Let's go, we're late."

"You say late, I say making an entrance," he remarks flippantly.

Rory points to the clock they keep by the bed, indicating it's nearly eight. "It started at seven. We've passed fashionably late and we're nearing the period where all the good food will be gone."

Logan sighs, "Far be it from me to keep a Gilmore from her appetizers."

She tucks her arm in his as they head out the door. "One hour okay? And let's stop for dim sum after cause I know I'm going to be hungry."

* * *

They are, as Rory predicted, well beyond fashionably late when they finally arrive. Together, they shrug off their coats and make their way into the reception room, where a number of high volume donors are schmoozing with the professors and administration, accepting praise for their donations towards the journalism department's new state of the art computer lab. She spies a number of people she knows throughout the room, most of them are like herself and Logan, either affiliated with the _Daily News_ or well connected and here on behalf of parents or grandparents who gave money.

"Ah, Logan," Dr. Coleman, the head of the journalism department greets them. "Good to see you."

Rory watches with fascination as Logan's expression immediately changes from general irritation into his pleasant schmoozing one.

He clasps hands with Dr. Coleman. "And you as well sir, I really enjoyed your latest in the _Times_. Insightful."

He nods in response. "Yes, it is a tricky situation isn't it?"

"Absolutely," Logan concurs without elaboration and Rory realizes he has no idea what Coleman's latest op-ed piece was about. It's odd because she knows he usually reads the _New York Times_ practically in it's entirety, especially when he knows one of the writers.

"You were very astute in assuming Iran would pull out of their nuclear deal with Russia," she adds. "I don't even think the State Department saw that coming."

"The State Department for this administration is a joke," he snorts. "You're the _Daily News_ editor aren't you? Richard Gilmore's daughter?"

"Granddaughter actually," Rory corrects. "But yes, I am the editor of the _Daily News_."

"Good man, your Grandfather. Gave me an excellent price when it came to insuring my son's start-up. Do give him my regards, won't you?"

"Of course."

Dr. Coleman claps Logan on the shoulder. "And you, tell Mitchum I'll be giving him a call. He made a very generous contribution, especially given you'll be graduating this year."

"That's the rumor anyways," Logan jokes.

Coleman laughs, "We'll miss your humor around here. I hope you won't be a stranger."

He walks away, chuckling to himself and Logan's expression immediately slides back into irritation. "Sycophant…" he mumbles darkly under his breath.

Rory twines her fingers into his steering him toward a few friends she knows from the _Daily News_ , only to have him stop short.

"What is it?" She asks, worriedly. His face as gone white as a sheet and he's staring at the bar as if he wishes he could set it on fire.

"It's nothing," he brushes off, turning his attention back to her.

Rory glances over, discretely trying to determine who could've caused such a strange reaction. Other than Honor's friend Walker, who is flirting with the bartender, she doesn't see anyone she knows.

"Seriously, Logan, what is it?"

"Nothing…I just…don't feel like dealing with Walker. Why is she even here?" He mumbles under his breath.

"She's seeing some stockbroker," Rory answers. "Honor mentioned it. I think he's an alumnus."

Logan swallows uncertainly. "Honor…talks to you about that stuff?"

"It's just something she mentioned." She desperately wants to know why seeing Walker has put him into such a state but she also doesn't want to start an argument so she simply twines her fingers in his and tugs him in the other direction. "We don't have to talk to her if you don't want to. C'mon, I see some of those stuffed mushroom caps you like."

Uncertainly, he allows himself to be led to the other side of the room, but not before he signals one of the cocktail waitresses for a drink.

* * *

The evening passes quickly. She meets Linda Greenhouse in a blur of awe and manages to negotiate the reinstatement of the _Daily News_ parking privileges with Professor Cantor. Logan drinks steadily, but quietly, a gentle hand on the small of her back as he grits his teeth and plays nice with his father's many business contacts. Rory's about to tell him she's ready to leave so she can get him home and figure out what the hell is going on when she turns and finds herself face to face with Walker.

"Oh, hi," she manages to sputter.

Walker teeters, slightly drunk on a pair of four inch Louboutins. She blinks at her with glassy eyes, startled as she takes in the two of them. Rory feels Logan stiffen behind her and the arm around her waist goes slack.

Walker's mouth twists with disgust. "You two make me sick, you know that?"

Rory stares at her in disbelief, trying to comprehend what she could possibly be so upset with her about. "What?" She finally manages to croak.

"Gwen has her head in the toilet morning, noon and night and you're just standing there, drinking scotch like she doesn't fucking matter," she gestures to Logan. "And you," she looks at Rory with a downright sneer. "You must be really fucking desperate for that Huntzberger money if you're willing to let him pull this kind of shit."

"I'm—" Rory starts, unsure what exactly she's supposed to say to this.

"Walker…" Logan injects in attempts to protest but he runs out of steam just getting her name out.

Walker looks from Rory to Logan and bursts out laughing. "Oh my God," she bursts loudly. "She doesn't know, does she?"

A few people look up, eying them over their drinks before they go back to their murmured conversations. "I don't know why that surprises me, I mean you've already proven to Gwen what a coward you are."

Rory turns to Logan, baffled. " _What_ is she talking about?"

Logan opens his mouth but nothing comes out and he closes it again, his eyes darting around the room with panic.

Walker laughs again, a hollow, harsh sound, and Rory realizes just how quiet the room has gotten. "Go head, tell her Logan," she goads, her voice carrying. "Tell her how you've been fucking Gwen behind her back. Tell her about how you knocked her up and dropped her like last season's peasant blouses. Go ahead, _tell her_."

Rory bites back a snort, she looks to Logan, expecting him to jump in with some sort of witty retort, after all the idea is so incredibly ludicrous. Maybe Walker is just confused. Or drunk. Or just trying to make a scene. Rory doesn't know her very well but it _seems_ like something she'd do as a joke.

She waits a beat, feeling like every eye in the room is on her.

Any second now Walker will burst out laughing, throw a drunken arm around both of them and say something like, 'God your face! Can't you guys take a joke?'

Another beat. Someone coughs.

"Logan?" Rory finally prompts.

"I…" he starts, unable to meet her eyes.

Her denial hits a brick wall at full speed. Her face crumbles. "Tell me it's not true," she demands shakily.

"I…don't. Rory I—I can't," he finally manages to get out.

Her body seems to catch up before her brain does. It feels like it's someone else's hand that reaches for the heavy glass centerpiece in the middle of the table, picks it up, and chucks it at him with everything she has. She misses, partially because she has no athletic ability to speak of, but mostly because she doesn't realize she's in the process of throwing it until it's nearly left her hands.

The glass shatters at his feet but she's already turned around, brushing past Walker and her openly gaping media theory professor. One of her colleagues from the _Daily News_ calls out after her but she doesn't stop, trying to hold off her sobs until she can get outside.

 _Horns twirling and jungle gutturals!  
An exploded bottle of stout,  
Slack foam in the lap.  
You stumble out,_

 _Dwarf baby,_  
 _The knife in your back._  
 _'I feel weak.'_  
 _The secret is out._

* * *

 **A/N: I'm so sorry everyone! My work schedule is insane. It's so much harder to write now that my hours are so different than they used to be. I am trying. Thank you for patience and support! I truly appreciate all your reviews/follows/favorites. Thank you!**


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